


call me when it's over (and myself has reappeared)

by iamnotbrianmay



Series: road to arabella [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Depressed Brian May, Depression, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Poor Brian May, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, References to Depression, Sad Brian May, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-04 12:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18604390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotbrianmay/pseuds/iamnotbrianmay
Summary: "We were worried you had done something stupid," Roger whispered, then pressed a kiss to his temple, "the bartender overheard your conversation with Daniel and decided to tell us."There is a second of silence, and then a sob escapes Roger, "God fucking damn it, we were so scared, Brimi. We thought we had lost you."





	1. i. acceptance (roger)

**Author's Note:**

> hi, its me again. only this time it's full of angst. This is very personal and I feel like I can sort of see myself in this words so please be nice? Apart from that, please enjoy, and remember to keep the tags in mind before reading this.

Nobody ever bothers to ask why Brian May only wears long sleeved shirts. Just like nobody ever bothers to ask why he owns a collection of bracelets which he wears on the rare occasion that he does wear short sleeved shirts. Maybe it's the fact that people often only see what they want to see, or perhaps it's fear of hearing something that they don't want to hear.

All he knows is that it's been a long night, filled with the overwhelming lights of the night club Freddie had dragged them too, and the sinking feeling that filled his chest every time John's boyfriend rolled his eyes at Brian. He didn't really understand why the older man hated him so damn much, all he knows is that Daniel can't stand him. And that he isn't very subtle about it.

The other thing he knows is that Daniel, regardless of having known Brian for, give or take, two months already seems to know more about him than his four friends combined.

They had been dancing, the five of them, having the time of their lives and helping Brian forget about the sinking feeling that passed over him every time he caught Daniel's stare. The alcohol is helping him feel like himself again, lightening his mood and making the tension leak from his muscles. He definitely wants more.

He leaves them in the middle of the dancefloor with the promise of coming back with shots for all of them and misses the way that Daniel walks after him. Brian leans on the bar, bracelets that decorate his arms digging into his skin painfully, but he pays no mind to the sensation. Then someone slots himself beside Brian, pressing their shoulders together.

When he turns, he finds Daniel glaring at him. Brian's heart sinks, "Look, I really don't want to fight you. You seem to make Deaky very happy and I—"

"You know I love John, right?"

Brian frowns, "Yeah, but what does that have to do with—?"

"I don't think he should be hanging out with you."

Brian's frown deepens, "Look, mate if you think that I am in any way going to get in the way of yours and John's relationship you are wrong."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Then what—?"

Daniel's eyes flicker to Brian's wrists, and the penny drops. He feels his eyes widen and his breath shorten because _oh god_ this can't be happening. He instantly cradles his hand to his chest and wishes that he hadn't worn the ridiculous Rolling Stones t-shirt he is wearing.

"You should be more careful when you play. If the wrong people were to find out..."

Daniel lets the thought linger on the air between them, and Brian's breath hitches, "You haven't told them, have you?"

Daniel shakes his head, his striking blue eyes never leaving Brian's face, "I'm not going too. And I won't tell the press either. I just want you away from John. He is way too precious, way too soft, and that," Daniel points at the hand Brian is holding to his chest, "will kill him."

The worst part is that Daniel's argument is reasonable. He can see the way that it would kill John, the way it could destroy Roger and Freddie. Brian knows that if it were to get out if any of his boys were to find out, it might tear them apart. So he just nods.

He clears his throat, blinks his tears away, and nods at Daniel, "Tell them I wasn't feeling alright."

Daniel nods, and gives Brian a faux smile, "I wish it could be different, Brian. But sadly it isn't."

Brian only notices the numbness that has spread over his body once he is left the bar. The cold air hits him like a truck, and Brian realises that everything he had been feeling that night seems to be locked away. The tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and a sob is clawing it's way up his throat.

He starts walking. Away from the bar. Away from his bandmates. Away from all the damage he has caused.

He finds himself at the banks of the Thames, an hour later. Staring at the water and fiddling with his bracelets. He started collecting them when he had turned fifteen. The first night his parents had found him in the bathtub, with crimson staining his shirt.

He still remembers his mother's tender hands, his father's worried eyes, and the kind words of his psychologist as she handed him his first leather band.

That was the first bracelet to go.

He gently undid the knot and threw the ugly thing as far as he could. He looked down to find three thin lines. All of different lengths, two older than the longest one of them all. He traced a finger over the lines, shivering lightly as the scab of the newest line fell away.

It was like a damn broke then, and Brian couldn't rip his bracelets fast enough. The beads of some of them rolled away as the string snapped, and the leather of others got caught in the fresh wounds, making them sting and bleed again. One by one they fell to the floor or got chucked away into the Thames.

Once his mind came back into focus Brian found that his arm now looked bloody and stung like hell. He had made a mess of himself once again, making the blood from the reopened wounds stain his pants and shirt, and /oh god/ what would they think if they found him right now?

Which of his friends would be the first one to scream at the sight? Which of his friends would be the first to leave him on the banks of the Thames? Which of his friends would ask him never to go back to their apartment? To get a new house and a new band?

He started crying, curled up into a ball and wishing for the ground to swallow him whole.

Hours later, when the cold had made his fingers numb and his legs practically useless, Brian decided that he needed to face the music. He needed to find the closest Underground station, clean up his arms and go home. He would put on a fake smile, tell his bandmates that his parents wanted him back for the weekend, and then disappear from their lives.

Maybe Daniel was right, if John, if any of them, were to find out it would kill them. It would kill them just like it had killed his parents years ago. He couldn't do that to them. They didn't deserve it.

The trip went as expected. He washed under the fluorescent lights of the Underground bathroom, he avoided the stares from everyone in the cart who wondered why a man was wearing a bloody Rolling Stones t-shirt. Then begged to every deity known to man that their newfound fame, regardless of how small, wouldn't come to bite him in the ass.

When he got home and looked at his watch, he realised that his bandmates were probably inside already. Three in the morning was usually past their bedtime.

Brian stuck his key into the lock and turned the thing around, trying to be as silent as possible. He was glad that he had changed the squeaky lock a few days prior. He did everything as softly as possible, kicking his shoes off, and locking the door behind him. He was so cautious that he completely missed the fact that the house was unusually quiet.

He couldn't hear Freddie's snores or the mumbling sounds that Roger made in his sleep. Brian frowned and stepped inside the living room only to find that John and Freddie's room was empty.

He flicked the lights on, "Guys?"

There was a loud crash from inside his and Roger's room, the sound was so loud that for a second Brian was worried Roger had actually harmed himself. But then the door was thrown open, and a flurry of blonde and white threw himself into Brian's arms.

Roger was sobbing, clinging to Brian like he hadn't seen him in a couple of years when in reality it had barely been a few hours. Ice trickled into Brian's veins, and he pried Roger away from his chest to look into his red-rimmed eyes, "Roggie, is everything alright? Where are Fred and Deaky?"

More tears flooded Roger's eyes, and he shook his head, "I have called every single fucking hospital in the region. Every single one of them. And none of them had anyone matching your description."

"Roger, what are you talking about? Why did you call the hospital?"

There is a moment in which Roger tenses, then his hands are on Brian's arms, trailing lightly down his biceps, his forearm, and finally coming to rest on his wrist. His cut up, cursed, wrist.

He has never had someone touch his scars before, and the reaction he has is visceral. He feels like throwing up and crying at the same time. Shame burns all the way from the base of his neck to the tip of his ears, and the sound that leaves his throat is one of a wounded animal.

"We were worried you had done something stupid," Roger whispered, then pressed a kiss to his temple, "the bartender overheard your conversation with Daniel and decided to tell us."

There is a second of silence, and then a sob escapes Roger, "God fucking damn it, we were so scared, Brimi. We thought we had lost you."

Brian feels painfully aware of everything around him, "Daniel told you about—?"

He can't bring himself to say it, and something deep inside him chastises him for it. _You are such a coward. First, you can't stop yourself, then you can't say what you did out loud._

Roger's hands are on his face, cradling Brian like he is something precious, "No, Brimi. Lord no, he didn't have to say anything. We've known for ages, darling."

Brian feels as if the air has been sucked out of his lungs.

"We've known for years, Brimi. Why do you think we never let you come home alone? Or why we have the no locked doors rule? Or why there literally is only one razor in this house?

Love, we have known for so long, we were just waiting for you to tell us. To ask for help. And _lord_ was that a mistake. We were so worried about driving you away from us that we never once stopped to think that maybe we were making a mistake."

Brian is left speechless, hands trembling slightly, and dizzy as hell, but it feels like a knot inside his chest untangles itself. He can deal with the feelings of betrayal in the morning. Deal with the fact that they knew and didn't do anything about it.

But for now, he just feels his legs give out in relief because they knew. They knew, and they didn't think Brian was less because of it. Didn't want him gone. Didn't feel the need to take him to a hospital and stuff him in the psychiatric ward. They knew and had decided to stay by Brian's side regardless.

His knees hit the floor just as a sob escapes his mouth, and Roger is there to comfort him. He wraps his arms around the smaller man and weeps in relief because  _oh god_  they know and they don't _care_. They know, and they won't stop being by his side. They know, and they decided to stay.

He doesn't know how long passes between his arrival and the moment where Freddie and John burst through the door. All he knows is that suddenly there isn't only one set of arms wrapped around him, but three.

He doesn't know which one of them is the one rocking back and forth. Which one of them is the one repeating the phrase _'you're here'_ over and over and over, and which one of them is sobbing uncontrollably. All he knows is that, yes, he is in their living room, encased in the warmth of his boy's hug. Yes, he didn't do anything stupid. And yes, maybe the world isn't as bleak as it had seemed a few hours before.


	2. ii. bargaining (john)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after and as Brian promised he finally lets the feelings of betrayal wash over him. John is there to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy! I can't believe you have all taken a liking to my fic! I feel so blessed wow. Especially because this is something that is very personal yada yada yada... So yeah, thank you all. Just know that this will not be a very happy fic, so I'm sorry if you came here looking for that. 
> 
> Depression is not something you fix with a kiss and a cuddle, so yeah, don't expect that to happen here. 
> 
> Needless to say, this fic is a very heavy piece, so if suicidal ideation, self harm, or any theme related to those two things triggers you please, please, stop reading.
> 
> Now, onto the fic. Enjoy.

The thing with the morning after, Brian later realises, is that if the situation had been different, it would have been Brian's dream scenario. He woke up to the sound of cars passing by and John's soft breathing. The younger man was stroking his face lightly, tracing slow patterns on his cheek and making goosebumps rise on the back of his neck.

In another Universe, the beauty of the scene would have made Brian wonder if he had finally gathered the guts to kill himself. If the scene he was looking at is what his Heaven is supposed to look like. But the horrible taste of his breath, the puffiness of his previously tearful eyes, and the awful feeling in his chest make him realise that even if he had actually managed to gather the guts, this would be hell, not Heaven.

John gives him a weak smile and places his hand over Brian's cheek, "Morning, sweetheart."

He doesn't know what to answer, doesn't know if he wants to kick and scream, if he wants to cry and be held by the bassist, or if he wants to give John a warm smile and answer something equally sweet. The feelings mix together in an undecipherable knot, leaving Brian numb, so he opts for rolling over to face the ceiling before speaking, "Where are Freddie and Roger?"

John stays right where he is at, looking at Brian's profile, "Down at the stall. They had to work today."

Brian's eyebrows crease into a frown, "Shouldn't you be at university?"

There is a beat of silence, "I thought it would be better to keep you company."

"Better than your education?" A little bit of anger manages to slip into Brian's heart.

"Definitely more important if you ask me."

Brian decides to sit up then, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and shaking his messy head of curls. He doesn't need to look at John to know what part of his body the younger man is looking at. He has to restrain himself from hiding his wrist away, "You shouldn't have stayed."

The bed creaks behind him, "We weren't about to leave you alone."

Brian lets out a bitter chuckle, "You did before."

"We never—!"

"You know that's not what I meant."

Because yes, Freddie or Roger had always stayed behind on mornings like this, claiming that the stall only needed one person that day. Or John would always make an excuse about his professor cancelling last minute. But where had they been when Brian took out the razor blade tucked into one of his old physics textbooks? Or when his thighs were scratched beyond belief? Where had they been then?

"You knew, John. You knew. The three of you knew, and you did nothing about it."

"We did Brian, we talked about it, we—"

"And you never thought to include me?" Brian was shaking now, "You never thought about gathering us all up in a little fucking reunion and saying _'Hey Brian, we know you slash your veins open, but it's disgusting, so please stop' ?_

_'Hey Brian, we know you can't be left alone because you might do something stupid, but we can't afford a new guitarist so we'll just have to stick around until you feel better' ?_

_'Hey Brian, we know you want to throw yourself off a bridge at any given circumstance, but we don't want to deal with the mess afterwards, so please don't?'"_

He stood up sometime in the middle of his rant, and he is facing John who is looking at Brian with tearful eyes and broken expression, but Brian can't bring himself to care he only feels angry. Brian's fists are shaking, his legs feel weak, and he wants to cry but the tears won't come and that makes him infinitely more frustrated. There is a little voice in his head whispering that it knows precisely what Brian needs to unleash the feelings he knows he can have.

"I'm sorry."

Brian's anger inflates, "Come for me when you have something better to say,  _I'm sorry_  won't cut it this time."

Johns reaction is immediate, "Where are you going?"

Brian walks towards the door, ignoring John, and then realises that might be a little counterproductive. John is everything but stupid, he will follow Brian out of the room at the first sign of Brian feeling a little bolder than usual, "I won't kill myself if that's what you are worried about."

Then he walks out.

The flat is unnervingly quiet after that, but Brian doesn't notice that. He can barely hear anything past the ringing in his ears and the small voice on the back of his head as he makes tea. He only realises he has made two cups after he's already served them, but he refuses to go into that room again. If anyone is going to start the conversation, it's going to be John.

The younger man emerges from the room after the tea had gone cold. He sat beside Brian on the breakfast island, taking sips of the disgusting thing, and staying quiet for the better part of an hour. For a second Brian remembered Daniel's words. Maybe he had just killed John. Perhaps this was the final straw, and the younger man would remain like this for the rest of his life. Then John speaks.

"We found out six months after we had moved in together."

Brian looks at John, but the bassist is staring straight ahead, almost as if he could see the exact moment when the ugly truth had been revealed.

"It was your birthday, and we had managed to get you shit faced enough for you not to be able to stand from the couch. We had to help you up, give you water, and change into your pyjamas. We took your shirt off after a long struggle and... we saw your cuts."

John wiped his tears with the hem of his shirt.

"D'you want to know what you said? ' _Don't tell them. Please don't tell them, I would kill myself if they knew._ '"

Brian remembered that week particularly well, it had been possibly one of the shittiest weeks in his entire existence. And the number of cuts had grown almost exponentially. He had remembered everything up until the point when Freddie had taken out the stolen bottle of Grey Goose, and then he was a goner.

"Fuck we were so young. So scared. We didn't know what to do. We didn't want you to go... do anything stupid. Didn't want to wake up one day and find that you were gone, leaving us a note, and if we were lucky, a love confession. So we kept quiet and made our stupid plans. We pretended to be in love with other people because it didn't seem right to do it without you, but we couldn't risk things getting worse than they already were. And then I go and fuck it up, and the person I'm trying to like nearly gets you killed."

"So you are trying to justify yourself with a love confession?"

"Brian, _shut up_." John slammed his now empty mug on the table, glaring at Brian, "I'm not trying to justify anything. I'm just trying to explain. Because yeah, one of the people I love the most in the world tells me that he will kill himself if we find out right after we do. I couldn't take that risk. We couldn't take that risk. And yeah it was fucking selfish of us to do that to you, but I was— no fuck that, I am so scared of losing you by taking the wrong step. So scared of losing you that we decided to keep quiet instead. 

I'm sorry we weren't there all the time, Brian, I really am. But not, for one second, think that we did nothing about it. That we didn't care. We even had sleeping schedules, okay? We would wake up every once in a while to make sure you were still there, you were still breathing. And God you are so unlucky that you never crossed any of us in one of your breakdowns. But Brian Harold May you need to understand that we _never_ left you alone."

And it is bizarre, watching John break and Brian feeling so far away that he can't bring himself to comfort his friend. He can only watch from the sidelines as John dissolves into a series of broken apologies and guilty words. He can't bring himself to feel anything because the anger has been reduced to nothing and now all he feels is numb. And God he wishes he was still angry.

"Introductory Physics, Volume Nine," Brian's voice cuts through John's words, "Page thirty-eight."

"Brian, what are you talking about?"

"You want to help?" Brian asks, "Go get my textbook. Introductory Physics, Volume Nine, Page thirty-eight. There is a razor blade there, I put in last week after I did this." He holds up his wrist and lets John openly stare at his cuts, "Go get it and get rid of it, before I can do anything stupid. Then come back here, and we will keep talking."

John is up from his chair in a flash, nearly running into Brian's room before stopping at the door. He looks back and gives Brian the sweetest smile he has ever seen, "Thank you, thank you so much."

This doesn't feel like much, but something, anything, is better than nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a slut for kudos, comments and feedback! 
> 
> Also swing by [my tumblr (@iamnotbrianmay)](https://iamnotbrianmay.tumblr.com/)and say hi!


	3. iii. relapse (freddie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian goes through a hard night, a very hard night, and Freddie is the one who has to comfort him. It's not easy when Freddie himself is trembling like crazy at the sight of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most graphic chapter yet, I won't lie to y'all. It's not pretty, it's not sweet, but it's quite realistic so, be careful y'all. Please be careful. 
> 
> Otherwise I hope you like this chapter! 
> 
> Kudos, comments and feedback are always appreciated.

It's Mental Health week at Imperial College. Otherwise known as the most dreaded week of the year for Brian May.

The psychologist had decided six months into Brian's course that there needed to be some sort of education on Mental Illnesses and that a bunch of, not quite yet mature, young adults will actually take the week seriously. It's the 70's, the world isn't open-minded enough for people to take Mental Illnesses seriously. Hence why Brian shouldn't be surprised about the comments some of his classmates make.

Brian's depression, however, didn't get the memo about ignoring the words sprouted by his classmates.

He can see it in slow motion, the way that the biggest asshole in his class raises his hand once they start discussing the reasons for people self-harming. The way he smirks at his friends, and they all snicker, knowing they are about to make the poor teacher upfront mad as hell. He gets called on, and the words he says leave Brian's ears ringing, "Aren't people who self harm practically useless? I mean, what kind of freak even does that?"

The world around the guitarist freezes.

His brain becomes basically useless after that. He can't hear the teacher's answer. Can't listen to the comments of his classmates who are a little less stupid. He can only hear the phrase on a loop. That mixed with the thoughts that had been growing ever since the incident at the bar about being a burden to his bandmates, a something easier left behind than taken care off.

He honestly doesn't know how he gets to their flat. It feels more like a blur of colours and sounds than actual memories, he only knows that when he opens the door, there is already someone inside. Freddie peeks out from the kitchen and gives Brian a smile. The guitarist stuffs the box of razor blades deeper into his pocket and smiles back.

The older man walks over, swinging his hips and making a show of walking while wearing the 'Kiss the Cook' apron. He grabs Brian's face and starts peppering him with kisses until Brian is blushing a cute shade of red. He doesn't laugh, which was what Freddie was aiming for, but the sweet smile is enough for him to stop. He gives him one last kiss on his nose, and then looks into his eyes, "How was your day, Maggie?"

"Tiring," he doesn't need to lie, "I feel like I could sleep for the rest of my life."

Freddie hums, giving him another kiss on his cheekbone and reaching for his school bag, "Go get a shower, when you come out there will be food waiting for you, sounds good?"

"Okay," Brian mumbles, "But I have to wash my hair, so it will probably take longer."

Freddie smiles at him, telling him he will be waiting anxiously for Brian to get out, and the voice in the back of his mind reminds him that those are just lies. It's almost eerie how said voice sounds exactly like him. Almost as if it was just himself making up these incredibly complex scenarios in which everyone hates him. He shakes his head, trying to clear his head, he has enough problems as it is now.

He gets a pair of oversized pyjamas, something that wouldn't raise Freddie's alarms, and an oversized sweater. The bandages are under the sink, the antiseptic in Brian's corner of the bathroom cabinets, and the box is tucked safely on the pocket of his hoodie. He turns on the shower, gets undressed and gathers everything he needs before stepping into the shower.

His urges didn't get the memo that he no longer owns his collection of bracelets, because his first cut is clean across his wrist and he feels the familiar haziness take over his brain. It's like all logical thoughts are instantly thrown out the window. All the images of Freddie covering his face in kisses, John curled around him like a cat, and Roger singing soft love songs are forgotten. Replaced entirely by hurtful words said to him and around him. Even those fabricated by his own mind.

He can't escape it at that moment, and he only notices he has been saying those words to himself when one of the words cuts of into a groan of pain as he goes a little too deep. A little too long. Then the world comes into focus again.

He can hear the sounds of Freddie's soft singing and pans clanking as he finished their dinner. He can feel the fact that the water has grown cold by then, and that his skin is aching from the scalding water that had been rolling down his spine. But most importantly, he notices the blood. It's trickling slowly down his arm and into the bathroom floor, but god it so much.

He feels the tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and panic rising from the pit of his stomach because he has never had this amount. Especially not after such a long time clean. It had been well over a month without the lightest scratch on his skin, and now he has gone an done this. And then all of the things that should have been in the front of his mind before he even picked up the box from the store come rushing through.

Memories of the last month in which Roger is running ice up and down his arms to calm Brian down, or Freddie is drawing beautiful patterns in his thighs while he wills himself to calm down, or John driving him out to the middle of nowhere and making him scream as loud as possible. It's all for nothing, all their efforts, all their hours spent on Brian, wasted in a shower.

He is calling Freddie's name before he can register it. The older man comes running into the bathroom and gets into the shower as fast as possible. He is pressing a towel to Brian's wounds, comforting the guitarist as he mumbles incoherently about being sorry. About letting them down. Freddie is pressing the cuts down, applying as much pressure as he can with one hand while running the other through Brian's curly hair.

"It's okay, baby," he whispers, the words so soft he can barely hear them over the sound of the shower, "we knew this might happen eventually, darling. You don't need to feel sorry for anything."

Brian doesn't miss the tears on Freddie's eyes.

* * *

 

He finds himself on Freddie's bed once the bleeding has stopped and they have changed into pyjamas. The older man is softly cleaning his wounds and applying butterfly bandages. Brian tries to pretend he doesn't see Freddie's trembling hands. Once the last of all his cuts are closed up, he picks up the bandage and wraps it around Brian's arm expertly.

Once it's done, once the evidence of what he has done is covered up, Freddie places a soft kiss over his wrist, then on his palm, then he leans over and presses their foreheads together, "What happened, dove?"

And it's amazing how three simple words have Brian spilling his guts. He tells Freddie everything, for the smallest of details, to the reason why he ended up in the shower. And Freddie looks more than pleased. He stares at Brian like the is the most wonderful being in the universe. He kisses the tears away, holds Brian's hand through the entire thing, tracing slow patterns on the palm of his newly bandaged arm.

At the end, when Brian finishes his story, Freddie cup the back of his neck, "Brian, darling, if we wanted to leave we would have done that ages ago."

"Would you?" Brian whispers, holding out to that little string of hope.

"Yeah," Freddie whispers, "If we didn't want to help you. If we didn't want to be around you. If we weren't willing to stick through the bad days and help you heal we would have left ages ago."

"And would you leave if I said I wanted help?" Brian asks, then realises how that sounds, "If I decided I want to see someone about... this."

He thinks Freddie might be a little upset by the idea of Brian leaving them, or by the fact that Brian thinks he might need a little bit more than just what they are giving him, but instead, Freddie looks ridiculously proud of what Brian just said, "No darling. We would be here, waiting for you until you were ready to come back to us."

And maybe, just maybe, that's exactly what Brian needs.


	4. iv. catharsis (brian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian has been counting down the days until he is let out of the Psych Ward. One month and a half had gone by both incredibly slowly and incredibly fast. Now he was ready to get out, and Roger, John, and Freddie are waiting for him with open arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey darlings! 
> 
> So this is the last chapter of this fic and I am so excited for you all to read this. Thank you thank you thank you for the feedback. I really love all of you and it would mean the world to me if you gave me some feedback because I want to improve my writing as much as possible. 
> 
> Otherwise, thank you for reading! I love you all very much.

Brian had his bag ready three days before he was due to be released.

To say he can barely contain his excitement is an understatement. He can't wait to see his friends, go back home and spend hours sprawled on their couch playing Scrabble and chatting. He can't wait for the moment when he gets to share the songs he has written with his friends, can't wait to go to bed pleasantly cuddled by three other people.

A month and a half in the hospital has gone both incredibly fast and torturously slow.

He has listened as their album slowly rose to the top of British charts, Killer Queen playing every so often in the old battered radio of his room, and his roommates have a field day every time it does. They dance and sing at the top of their lungs, making Brian cry with laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. By their side, the hectic hospital wing doesn't seem nearly as daunting.

Brian knows he is going to miss them, Sebastian, with his too bright smile and too thin arms, and Phil, with his curly hair and ever-changing moods.

He keeps the letters that Freddie, Roger, and John had written to him before he left. He treasures them, following their instructions and opening one of the forty-five letter pack they gave him each day, and all but cries every time he finishes reading one. By the time three letters remain Brian finally realises how much he misses his boys. He wishes he had his phone with him, or maybe even access to a computer to make sure that the press hasn't eaten them alive in his absence.

Yeah, a month and a half have been torturous.

He enters his psychiatrist's office with a smile in his face, the warm sun is streaming through the windows, the room smells pleasantly of incense, and the young woman is sitting in her reclinable chair, smiling at Brian. He walks over to the board and places one blue sticker on the box marked with March 23rd. The woman smiles, "Two months clean, eh?"

Brian's smile widens, "Two months clean."

* * *

 

It is almost frightening how the thing that you have been waiting for the most might sometimes scare the crap out of you. To Brian, the scarcely decorated psych ward, and the homey like office of his psychiatrist had been his home for a long time. And sure, he couldn't wait for the day in which he was released, but now that he was signing the papers and being handed everything that they took away from him before he entered the hospital, well Brian couldn't help but feel nervous.

It had been a month and a half since he had last seen his boys. Forty-five days, sixteen hours, and twenty-three minutes. After all, only next of kin were allowed to visit Brian during his stay.

The doors to the hospital opened after a long beep, and once the air came inside Brian felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. Not for anything else but for the image of his mother standing right outside the hospital. Arms crossed over her chest and a sweet smile on her features. He walked over, letting his suitcase flop on the ground as he wrapped his arms around her and spun her around.

Ruth laughed gleefully at her son's bright mood, tangling her hands into his hair and smacking a wet kiss on his cheek. His father came out of the car then and gave Brian a hug as well. And once they were all seated into the car, and his father turned the ignition key, the radio crackled to life and 'Killer Queen' blasted through the speakers.

His parents laughed, and his mother even let herself hum along to Freddie's voice, but instead of feeling the same glee he always did, Brian could only wonder about two things. One, if Sebastian and Phil were rocking away like they usually did, and two if he still had the same place in the band he had left behind.

After all, in one of his long reading session at Saint Mary's Hospital, he had read that it only takes twenty-one days to make or take something out of your routine. And Brian... well Brian hadn't been a part of Queen for forty-five days.

* * *

 

Even after his mother's insistence, they ended up taking Brian from the hospital directly to the flat he shared with the rest of Queen. He was tired, to be honest, and just wanted to lay in his semi-uncomfortable mattress while listening to Roger's nonsense, Freddie's laughter, and John's scoldings. He wanted to be back home, even if it was for only a few days, before going out of the house again.

He bid his parent farewell and climbed the stairs into his building. There was no one around the place as he hiked up the stairs lugging his bag and grunting when the exercise became too much for his exhausted limbs. His hands were shaking terribly as he unlocked the door and toed his shoes off. A part of him expected a warm reception, but the other half of his brain, the one used solely to think about his bandmates, reminded him that they were all bound to be either working or studying at the moment.

He wandered into the kitchen, marvelling at the state of near perfection in which everything was placed. Just like Brian liked everything to be. The house smelled clean, almost like someone had taken the time to scrub every surface clean. Which is surprising given that Brian is the one to do that for them, always. For one second Brian wonders if they hired someone to do that for them with the extra money coming from both the record and having one less mouth to feed and one set less of guitar strings to buy.

He padded over to his room, turning the knob of his door and letting it swing open.

The room is covered in flowers. Literally. Every available surface has at least one vase filled with the most beautiful arrange of flowers Brian has ever seen, and seated in the room between his and Roger's bed, holding a bouquet of flowers each, are his boys. They are dressed in plain, comfortable, clothes, looking like they have barely slept a wink in at least a week, but smiling so brightly that Brian swears he has never seen anything so beautiful.

Freddie is the first one up. He throws himself into Brian's arms and nearly makes him topple over. Brian buries his face into Freddie's neck, taking in the sweet smell of Freddie's jasmine perfume. Someone pries one of Brian's hand away from Freddie's waist and tucks themselves into the embrace. John smells of cinnamon, as he always does, and his soft hair tickles Brian's nose as he hugs them both to their chest. Promising himself never to let go.

Roger is the last one to join the hug, he makes Brian look up and wipes the tears of joy streaming down his face with his thumb. Then stands on his tiptoes to give Brian one kiss on his forehead, followed by two more kisses on his cheeks, one on the tip of his nose, and finally brushing his lips against Brian's chapped ones.

The guitarist's heart nearly beats out of his chest then, and Roger just smiles, "We've missed you, you know? Could barely sleep without you here."

It takes all of Brian's strength not to crumble to the floor, dragging his boys down with him. There are butterflies in his stomach, and the strange urge to have them all lay on top of his, crushing him under their weight and reassuring him that they are here. That this is not a dream like one of the thousands he had during his stay at the hospital, where they would all come talk to him, or kiss him senseless, or cuddle with him, and he would wake up alone in the uncomfortable bed.

He is sure he can ask for that later on, for now, he is just content to tighten his grip around John and Freddie's bodies, and lean down to kiss Roger, "Not half as much as I missed you, that's for sure."

He isn't sure who whispers, ' _we are so proud of you, Brian'_ and who whispers, ' _welcome home, baby.'_  

He only knows that, yeah, Brian is proud of himself too. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a slut for kudos, comments and feedback! 
> 
> Also swing by [my tumblr (@iamnotbrianmay)](https://iamnotbrianmay.tumblr.com/)and say hi!
> 
> I hope you like it! I will update soon, i promise.


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